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Chris: D? You still there?
Daphne: Leave it.
Chris: You sure? Ten minutes with a razor and it’s gone.
Daphne: Leave it.
Chris: Awesome!
APRIL 25, EIGHTEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: The new photo shoot is tomorrow. I know we agreed on jeans, but I’m having trouble choosing. I’ve got old jeans, new jeans, new jeans that look old. I like the old ones best for Z. They’re snug and worn—but I’m worried the lighter color doesn’t do my ass any favors.
Daphne: Send pics.
Chris: Which ones?
Daphne: All of them.
APRIL 28, FIFTEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: Okay, so I got my new photos. Sending you my fave now. Did a little Photoshopping ;)
Daphne: The last time a guy sent me a Photoshopped pic, it wasn’t his smile he enhanced.
Chris: LOL No, it’s not that kind of pic. Though, if you wanted…
Daphne: No, I do not.
Daphne: Wait. You Photoshopped yourself in front of my lake. At my house. With my dog.
Chris: He’s a real cutie.
Daphne: SHE’S a real cutie.
Chris: I think Z would have a male dog. He looks like a black wolf with blue eyes. Very Z. I’m thinking I’ll call him Ernie. Ernie Hemingway. Get it?
Daphne: SHE already has a name. HER name is Tika. And she is MY dog.
Chris: What if I put a cat in the photo instead?
Daphne: House cats don’t wander the wilderness up here. They’d get eaten.
Chris: What if it was a large one? My friend has this big Maine Coon. We could pretend it’s a lynx.
Daphne: Cut the dog. No cat. Cell service is flickering. Gotta run.
CHRIS
Chris laughed as he pulled up the badly Photoshopped photo of him with Tika in front of Daphne’s lake. He’d had no intention of sending it to the publisher. The goal had been to amuse Daphne—and maybe poke at her a little. Give her something to distract her from the fact she had a book coming out in a few weeks, and the pressure to do well grew with each passing day.
Chris remembered his first major client—a business that had fired its accountant a week before taxes were due. Multiply that tenfold, and he had an inkling of what Daphne was going through.
She didn’t have any reason to worry. The book was amazing. It’d be easier if he could admit that he’d read it, but he had to stay in character, at least until he’d proven his ability to play a role.
In the meantime, he could sneak a little bit of himself into the portrayal. Like the goofier side that had made this photo. Just a little gentle poking to distract and—he hoped—amuse her.
To that end…
